


Rest and Revolution

by yet_intrepid



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>July 29th, 1830. In the wee hours of the morning, three insurgents take some rest and share their hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest and Revolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimueailinen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimueailinen/gifts).



Combeferre came over as Enjolras leaned against the wall, sitting close to him against the chill of the wee hours and passing him bread. It was three in the morning, and they had spent a long day fighting on the barricades and a long night building new ones after the army’s artillery had caused massive destruction. They were silent at first as they ate, but Enjolras’ thoughts were still on the insurrection.

“How many wounded with our group?”

“About ten,” Combeferre said quietly. “One that’s quite unlikely to pull through.”

Enjolras put an arm around Combeferre’s shoulders at that. His eyes, stung all day with smoke, drifted shut as the two of them relaxed into the familiar touch.

“What do you think of our position?” Combeferre asked him after a moment.

Enjolras opened his eyes again to look at the little barricade before them, upon which Joly and Bossuet kept watch together by torchlight. It had become his own command as the insurgents, nervous about the artillery deployed against them, had moved through the city under cover of darkness, barricading every street they could. Yesterday they had fought in a wide avenue as part of a large force; now they were alone. But they had chosen their little side street well, and reinforced it with care.

“It is a good position,” Enjolras said, the corner of his mouth lifting a little. “I think we can hold it.”

“The barricade is small,” said Combeferre, “but it is very sturdy.” He adjusted himself to lean against Enjolras a little more. “And they cannot bring much artillery down a street so narrow.”

“Yes, exactly.”

They fell quiet again, and Enjolras let his weary head fall onto Combeferre’s shoulder, hair covering his face. However, footsteps made him look up again.

Courfeyrac was standing there, waistcoat unbuttoned and shirtsleeves rolled up, but cravat still in place and hat swinging from the fingers of his left hand. He was smiling at them.

“We’ve just about exhausted our supplies for enlarging the barricade,” he said. “I’ve advised rest for everyone, but it seems you two are ahead of me there. Have you eaten?”

“I found some bread,” said Combeferre. “We shared it.”

“Then you did about as well as any of us.” Courfeyrac flopped down next to Enjolras. “I’ve heard reports from the men we were fighting with yesterday. They’ve managed to bring an entire regiment of the Royal Guard over to our side.”

A broad grin spread across Combeferre’s face. “My God. That’s fantastic.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows rose. “Are they sure—”

“Yes,” said Courfeyrac at once. “Sure as they can be.”

Enjolras laughed in hope and amazement, taking Courfeyrac’s hand in his. “And so fraternity gives us strength.”

“And so the good in man wins out,” put in Combeferre. “Members of the Royal Guard or not, they can see and hope for progress just as we can—”

“And struggle in its name,” finished Enjolras. “Courfeyrac, this is the best of news.”

“I would say so, yeah,” said Courfeyrac. “We’re less likely to die, less likely to get sent home unheeded like naughty little schoolchildren, and in the process our ideals are getting realized. Pretty good news.” He started combing his fingers through Enjolras’ hair, smoothing out the tangles of battle. “But anyway, like I was saying to the others, we should rest for now. The watch is taken, the wounded are being cared for, and there is hope for tomorrow’s battle.”

“So in the midst of the fighting, we may be at peace,” finished Combeferre. He placed his hand on Enjolras’ knee. “Yes, we must gather our strength for another day. We should sleep an hour, at least. Perhaps two.”

And with all the skill of a hospital intern, used to long shifts in the wards and in surgery, Combeferre shut his eyes and evened his breathing, and fell asleep. Enjolras smiled fondly at him, then turned his head to Courfeyrac to find that he, too, was already dozing off, curled up like a cat, still holding Enjolras’ hand with one of his, with the other hand entwined in Enjolras’ hair.

Enjolras was not sleepy. The hope in his heart, bolstered by Courfeyrac’s news and by the closeness of his friends, kept his eyes open wide and fixed on the slowly-lightening skies. But he rested, sharing warmth even as he grew stiff from the paving stones he sat on and the plaster of the wall he leaned against. He rested, and he thought of revolution.

Dawn was breaking.


End file.
